#bible fan fic out here ruining my life

[introverted-reads]

crowley would love my "jesus in a strip club giving head pin"

[musette22]

I’ve read the Not Easily Conquered fanfic and it’s a big love letter to Peggy and Steggy and that doesn’t sit well with me especially how Stevebucky fans treat it as some Stucky bible.

Alright, what do I need to do to get people to stop sending me negative messages about my favourite fic? Do I need to put it in my bio? Pin a post to my blog?

Listen, I don't know if you sent me this knowing that NEC is my favourite fic, or that you're unaware of that fact and you're just new here or something. If the latter is the case, then this is just a bit unfortunate, and I will just say that you're perfectly entitled not to like NEC and that we all have different preferences. It's totally fine. But I will also say that I don't agree with your view on it and ask you to please refrain from sending me messages like these again in the future (and you can disregard the below).

If you did know, then that's just not cool. I've made posts before about how I know NEC isn't everyone's cup of tea, but that fic changed my bloody life and every time I get a negative message about it, I get genuinely really sad (perhaps irrationally so, but we're not in this fandom because we're the most rational beings on the planet). For me, NEC was a Stucky fic through and through. Yes, there is Steggy, particularly in the first part, but it makes sense in the context of the story and it is always very clear that Bucky is Steve's soulmate and that Stucky is endgame (wow that word is ruined). You say it's a love letter to Steggy and Peggy, which, seeing as this fic is basically centered around Bucky's love letters to Steve, seems kind of ironic to me. I am very sensitive about steggy and still this fic is 100% worth it for me.

The absolute star of this fic (aside from the the sensational writing) is the beautiful, one of a kind, enduring, timeless love between Steve and Bucky. It's that love, seeping out of every pore of the story, which in my book without a doubt makes it a Stucky fic, and perhaps even worthy of the title Stucky bible. Again, I do get that it's not for everyone, but it is for me.

[ghostjellyfishheart]

@transiconlink​ what follows is me fighting the urge to scream over the powerpuff girl script

My expectations were low.  Screenshots I had seen of the script lowered them.  Somehow this is worse than I imagined.

Starting off strong with once upon a time.  But unlike regular once upon a time stories, this one is set in the early two-thousands.

I dont know if this is a warning not to worry because we will get to see more of the three-headed pegasus monster or a “don’t worry the monster isn’t actually scary we only see it briefly.”  I also don’t know which is funnier

So Mojo Jojo was the professor’s lab partner.  The powerpuff girls were born seven years old.  Sure, why not.

Powers he’d use for good, like Elon Musk, but also for his own personal gain, like Elon Musk.  This is an actual line.  Someone was paid to write this.

Bubbles broke into the zoo to make the flamingos get drunk.  This was not the first time she has done this.

I had seen this line in screenshots before.  I was not prepared to read it in the actual script.

Since I do not know what a character bible is I am going to pretend it is the character wiki page.

Sara seems like a decent person.  She feels bad for the teenagers who regularly fight giant swamps.  Can’t wait to see what plot twist cw has in store to make her a monster.

Drake then proceeds to tell his girlfriend he has been living with for over a decade that she is not part of the family.

The powerpuff girls accidentally kill mojo and the band breaks up.

Buttercup is a firefighter.  Good for her.  Shame this is going to get ruined very shortly.  Bubbles tries to make it in Hollywood.  It does not work.  Blossom goes and gets a bunch of degrees.

I would rather watch Bubbles With a Chance of Bubbles then this show.

Jojo is doing well.  He took over as mayor and helped improve Townsville.  He will become a villain, not to avenge his father’s death, but because of reverse discrimination and a lack of free gelato.

Again these are actual lines that people were paid to write.

After failing to conquer Hollywood, Bubbles decided to become a professional vlogger.  Not what actually happened, but if they wanted Bubbles to be doing all the “do it for the camera” stuff it would be funnier if she was telling people to like comment and subscribe.

Good for Sara.  I’m glad she got away from that.  I am going to hope she’s out there living her best life and not about to get dragged back into this bullshit.

Another classic screenshot that I saw before deciding to read the script.

Chem X prevents people from camping.

This right here is the first image I saw of this god forsaken script.

I looked it up.  moveon.org is an actual website.

Blossom: I hope I don’t have a panic attack

*has a panic attack almost immediately*

I don’t know why I decided to make a reaction post when the entire script just makes my brain do static noises.

The Monster Mash deserves better than this.

I’m not even halfway through the script.  I’m going to cry.

No thoughts.  Head in great pain.

Buttercup is done wearing dresses of compulsory heterosexuality and playing straight for the cameras.

Gonna be honest, realizing the Volcano is a dive-bar and not an actual volcano has been the most disappointing part of this script so far.

Bubbles sells engagement rings for drug money.  Y/n’s mom could never.

When I first saw this screenshot I didn’t know Drake was the professor and assumed Blossom was avoiding the rapper.  I did not question this.

This is the second time the script has mentioned gogurt.  This means the gogurt is almost certainly product placement.  I am disappointed in gogurt.

I would rather read fanfiction written in first person than watch this show.

ALSO I AM PASSED THE HALFWAY POINT

FREEDOM IS SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR

Jojo is worried about his political career.  He decides that breaking into the homes of little girls will help solve the problem.

Crazy dude with Scorpio energy.  Seems about right.

I can feel my brain turning to mush.

The cells are dying.  My brain goes smoother with each line I read.

I have to live with the knowledge that there will be fans of this show who will ship Buttercup and Macy and create a bunch of fan content where they take a u-haul to buy a three acre farm and raise chickens.  I can see it.

If you want a show about child heroes learning to cope with their trauma, watch Steven Universe Future.

Sara makes a comeback.  I am sad that the life I had imagined for her where she got out of Townsville and avoided the cw’s plans for her is ruined.

I can see the cw’s plan.  It involves Sara getting back together with Drake.  I am furious.

The first guess these people make when they don’t find an evil lab is a mass hallucination.  The second is aliens.

Drake invested the trust fund in fidget spinners.  I wish I was surprised.

Is... is this trying to say the original cartoon was a whitewashed version of this story?   Is that what’s happening here??????

This makes the wattpad fics I used to read look good.

I appreciate the use of exclamation points to try and get me excited.

HOW IS THIS REAL??????????

The puff-mobile sprinter van.  Someone wrote those words.  Other people read those words and approved them.

If they kill Drake that means Sara can’t get back with him.  Come on Jojo.

They didn’t reject you for misogynistic reasons.  They rejected you because they were tired of rebuilding downtown every week.

I am losing my mind.  The way this is set up makes it sound like owning furniture from West Elm is what prevents Blossom from being a Powerpuff Girl.

If a quick conversation with an imaginary version of her younger self cures Blossom’s ptsd I am going to through a riot.

Wow

Damn it.

i can no longer form coherent thoughts

No.  Absolutely not.  You will stay away from Sara and let her move on with her life.

I have reached the end.  Reading this took years off my life.

[labelma]

A short one-shot of Mickey absolutely destroying Kaitlin Bennet aka the Kent State Gun Girl aka the girl who is known for shitting her pants at a frat party and harassing people with a microphone in order to spread far-right propaganda. 

read here on ao3

Thank you to @mickeygifs for giving me the idea to write this fic!

“So why are we here again?” Mickey asked, grumpily brushing glitter off his shirt.

“Because it’s fun. C’mon live a little, we’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” Ian responded fondly.

Mickey only grunted in response. Spending the day at a pride parade wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, but it made Ian happy, and there was a part of him, hidden deep down under layers of disdain and disinterest that relished in his newfound freedom to express his love and identity in public. His father was back in the joint for arson and attempted murder after his temper tantrum on the day of Mickey’s wedding, and Mickey had made a promise to himself to be more open to trying new things, and to work on letting go of the shame he had carried with him his entire life.

But Ian was very shirtless, and soaking up the jubilant energy of the crowd, and Mickey found himself realizing there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here with his husband.

That didn’t mean that he was going to let himself get covered in glitter. There were some things that were just too far.

Mickey let himself be pulled further into the crowd by a slightly drunk Ian, instinctually tightening his grip on his husband as the crowd thickened. “Geneva! It is so good to see you,” exclaimed Ian as they came to a cluster of gay Jesus groupies. Mickey stood quietly to the side of Ian. He was thankful for what the group had done at the wedding, protecting the ceremony from being ruined by Terry’s wrath, but he had never quite been able to forgive Geneva and the rest of them for exploiting Ian’s mania and then abandoning him when the shit hit the fan. But he had been in Mexico, and Ian was happy now and that’s what truly mattered. A hand on his shoulder broke him out of his contemplation. Ian leaned in close so that only Mickey could hear him, “You okay? You look a little out of it.” Mickey smirked at his husband and nodded, “Yeah, yeah I’m good, just a little overwhelmed. I’m gonna take a smoke. Be back in five.” He gave Ian a quick kiss and began weaving towards the outskirts of the crowd, looking for somewhere quieter. He stopped under the shade of a sad-looking oak tree far enough away from the excitement that mickey could catch his breath, but close enough that he would have no trouble finding his husband when he was done. Not that Ian was that hard to find, tall ginger motherfucker. Mickey lit up and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting the nicotine calm his nerves. “Excuse me, sir, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Asked a voice. Mickey opened his eyes to find the owner of the voice to be a woman with long blonde hair and an oddly intense look in her eyes. She held a microphone in her hand and behind her stood a man with an expensive-looking video camera. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked the woman, “My name is Kaitlin Bennett, I’m reporting on this event. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” Mickey shrugged noncommittally which the woman, Kaitlin, seemed to take as an agreement because she powered on. “We’re trying to get various opinions on the event today, and you stood out to me as someone with a different viewpoint to everyone else,”  His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. What the hell was this girl on about? “I’m just going to jump right in, how do you feel about such a blatant celebration of sodomy?” Mickey’s thoughts ground to a halt, “I’m sorry, what?” “I asked how you felt about such a blatant celebration of sodomy? It seems unnatural correct?” A part of Mickey registered that a crowd had begun gathering around them, but most of him was stuck to the spot remembering his father yelling about disgusting faggots, the rage in his eyes the day he found Ian and Mickey together, the florist who refused to do business with them after finding out he was gay, and he was unable to form a coherent response. “Excuse me, sir, I asked you a question.” Demanded the woman who seemed to Mickey as if she was eating up the attention from the crowd. He spotted a flash of red in his peripheral vision and saw Ian walking over with a purpose, gay Jesus groupies following behind him. The sight of his husband filled him with a sense of ease, and he felt himself pulled away from his memories and back towards the present. “What’s unnatural about celebrating love?” Mickey snapped at the woman. He had put up with enough homophobia in his life, and he wasn’t about to let this bitch use him for some crappy anti-gay video. He continued,  “There’s nothing wrong or unnatural about two men loving each other.”  “But the bible says otherwise­-“ “What the hell is going on here?” Asked Ian sharply, as he placed himself between Mickey and the woman, who promptly turned her attention towards him, “I’m just asking this man some questions,” she said in a voice reeking of false innocence. Ian was about to respond when Mickey placed a hand on his shoulder, “I got this,” he said quietly. Ian looked at him for a moment, ensuring that he was okay before backing up into the circle surrounding them. “Why does it matter to you what other people do?” “It matters to me that you all are taking the word of God and walking all over it. All these people wearing gay Jesus t-shirts, as if Jesus would ever support such disgusting and unnatural behavior.” Mickey, quite frankly, had heard enough. All hesitance and residual fear from his father disappearing, he stepped into her space. “Why do you people care so much about who we fuck,” said Mickey fiercely, punctuating with his hands, “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Jesus wouldn’t support your hate-spewing, or maybe that some of us don’t give a fuck what Jesus said in the first place.” Mickey was close enough that he knew she’d be able to hear him even though his next few words were uttered in a harsh whisper, “Between you and me, I’ve dealt with homophobes much larger and much worse than you. You don’t scare me, not even a little.” Her eyes darted to the tattoos across his knuckles and his snarl, and Mickey relished in the moment she realized that she had chosen the wrong person to fuck with. “you know I carry right?” she snapped as her hands came up as if to stop him from getting closer. Mickey’s face broke into a grin as he tapped his side, right where his piece was tucked into his jeans, “Oh really? So do I.” Panic flashed through her eyes as she quickly backed towards one of the cops that had gathered around the group, “Excuse me, sir, this man just threatened me.” The officer, who seemed familiar to Mickey, was unmoved by her panic. “All due respect ma’am, but he didn’t threaten you, he simply informed you he was carrying. It’s legal to carry a gun in Illinois as long as one has a permit. Sir, do you have a permit?” “Yes,” lied Mickey through his teeth. “Then he didn’t do anything wrong, ma’am.” Kaitlin floundered, mouth wide open. Geneva stepped forward, clearly with a purpose, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your whole movement about having the right to carry guns in public?” Mickey grinned and stepped back, sure Geneva could handle the rest of the conversation. He’d said what he wanted to say and now was ready to get the hell away from the woman and all the onlookers. Ian made his way quickly to Mickey’s side, grabbing his elbow and leading him away from the crowd towards a side street. “Mick, that was incredible. You really held your own against her.” “I’m just sick of people thinking they get a say in what others can and can’t do. I’ve had enough of that in my own life, I don’t need it from some random blonde chick with a microphone.” They had stumbled into a quiet alleyway. Ian turned to face him, “She’s a pretty notorious far-right gun activist. She does these types of things all the time, going to colleges, and rallies, asking people leading questions and trying to get a rise out of them. It's pathetic really.” “Yeah well, she can kiss my ass.” Ian's smile grew as he leaned forward, breath hot against Mickey’s ear. “Why don’t I do it for you?” Mickey certainly couldn’t say no to that. Mickey laid in bed, head pillowed on his husband’s chest, while Ian played absently with his hair. The house was quiet, Liam and Franny long since fallen asleep. The room was dark, the only light coming from Ian’s phone as he scrolled through it. He felt, rather than heard a laugh huff through Ian’s chest. “Mickey check this out.” Ian handed his phone over to Mickey who blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen. Kaitlin Bennett’s Hypocrisy Exposed at Pride Parade Today at Chicago’s annual pride event, Kaitlin Bennett showed her true colors as she accused an anonymous man of assault for informing her he was carrying a concealed firearm. Watch the full video below: “Babe, you’re famous.” “Can they see my face in the video? I don’t want Larry to find out I had a gun on me.” Ian smirked at him, “Since when do you care what Larry thinks of you?” Asked Ian, humor evident in his voice. “Bitch shut the fuck up, he helped me get the promotion that pays the bills for this shitty house.” “Don’t worry, it was taken from behind you, no one can prove it’s you in the video.” Mickey let out a relieved breath as he felt Ian press a kiss against his temple. “I’m so proud of you, you know? I know it can’t be easy hearing that shit, but you were so composed and confident, everyone was in awe of you.” Mickey felt a smile creep up his face despite himself, “I love you,” he whispered against the pounding of Ian’s heart. “I love you too,” came the response as Mickey felt himself relax into his husband’s arms. Well, today certainly wasn’t what he’d expected, but Mickey had come through on his promise to be more open. A thought struck him, “I hope my dad sees the video in prison. I can just see the look on the motherfucker’s face when he realizes it’s me in the video.” Ian’s laugh jostled him slightly. “Maybe it’ll be the thing that finally kills him.”

[whirlybirbs]

WE’RE GHOSTS.  ----  A.M. ;

summary: you, on a flight of fate, buy a journal belonging to an A. MORGAN. turns out it’s haunted. based on this plot idea i threw out into the world this morning. word count: who knows, this is v. freeform, i did not count pairing: ghost!arthur x reader, w/ a twist a/n: me? a ghost fan? yea. so far, this is a stand-alone fic. the end is loose, so if folks want another part, leave a lil comment, send my dumb ass an ask, i love ghost fics.

The journal comes with more questions than anything.

The withered pages are rich with personal history. quick, sketched-out drawings of places visited are accompanied by the smudge of fingerprints along the dog eared pages. The words, in practiced script, are incredibly human -- loss, heartbreak, happiness...

And then it just ends.

There’s pages left to be filled at the end, at-least twenty or so, and you find yourself wondering what in the world happened to A. MORGAN.

Things start moving.

It’s... little things.

Like, the can of beans from your cabinet is suddenly on the counter one morning. Your knife drawer, you find, slides open randomly. You blame it all on forgetfulness and loose hinges.

An old photo falls off the wall one night, scaring you half to death -- you pull yourself from the sheets, bleary eyed from sleep and confusion, to find the frame in the middle of the hall.

The snow around the family of deer glints in the light of the moon.

You blink, swearing you saw a reflection in the glass.

You ignore it. You put the picture back on the wall and move on.

It’s nearly winter.

The house creaks more, lonely and quiet, but full to the brim with something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels heavier and you stoke the fireplace wondering if some time away from your family’s cabin would put you at ease.

The house was passed down to you when your parents moved south, chasing retirement and heat. You didn’t have the heart to let them put it on the market. Too many good memories.

But, now? Those are being snuffed out by nameless anxieties.

The noises haven’t stopped -- in fact, they’ve only gotten worse.

Things have started to move in the attic. You don’t have the heart to go up there. Instead, you lay in bed, as still as you can, while old furniture shifts above you.

The tinker of spurs on the floors up there is like bells in the wind.

The kitchen.

The sounds are coming from the kitchen.

It’s the shattering of glass that separates this from all the other incidents. This time, the baseball bat in your hands is gripped with a ferocious need for protection -- and you pad into the kitchen quiet as a mouse, fight or flight driving your hands to shake and eyes to dart.

When you pass the threshold of the kitchen, your jaw drops.

A bottle of Jack Daniels is spinning on its side on the quartz island, whiskey pouring from the bottle. Three shot glasses lined up and full, one shattered on the kitchen floor. Every drawer is open, as if someone had been searching for something...

And the journal sits, open, on the kitchen table. It’s on an early entry. One about the town of Valentine and a rowdy night in the local saloon.

“How the fuck --” you utter, reaching to touch the journal.

And as your fingers skim the page, all the lights in the kitchen strobe in one big flourish, bulbs shattering like gunshots in glittered little filaments as you screech, jumping six feet in the air.

Then the drawers, ramming back and forth and you realize it’s the knife drawer again -- and suddenly, a butcher knife sails across the room and embeds itself in the wall beside your head.

Right through a canvas painting of a white tailed buck in the snow.

The guy at Home Depot didn’t say a word when you bought four whole packs of new light bulbs, plaster, and chains at check out. The look on his face was sympathetic.

You get an extra shot in your coffee order on your way back to the Antique Store, journal in hand.

Well, not in hand. It’s rubber-banded shut in the backseat, weighed down by an old bible you found in a drawer in the guest room.

“All sales are final,” says the owner, shaking his head, “I finally got rid a’ that thing --”

“Yeah,” you bite, “And I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since.”

“Here,” he says, cashing open the register and handing you a ten dollar bill, “Have your money. But, I ain’t taking that thing back... Why don’t you go burn it?”

Your eye twitches.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just burn it.”

You gawk at your friend, eyes pulled wide as you stab your steak.

“I can’t... I can’t do that --”

“It’s haunted, dude.”

“Yeah, but it’s... history.”

“Haunted history,” she muses over her wine, “It’s ruining your home --”

She gestures to the fresh plaster over your shoulder. The knife had left a good hole. Across from you, the pantry is chained closed and so is the drawer belonging to the aforementioned knife.

“ -- So, dowse it in holy water and burn it.”

“You’re kidding.”

She wasn’t. And the owner of the Antique Store wasn’t either.

The internet agrees with them.

You’ve been doing a lot of research.

Your knee bounces, lip pulled between your teeth as you eye the journal sitting before you on the kitchen counter. You’re worrying, torn between a deep regret of burning lost history -- I mean, the guilt of destroying A. Morgan’s life... the last living document of it...

The pantry door creaks open behind you.

“Will you stop?” you snap finally, words hiking in irritation, “Stop it.”

A moment’s pause.

And then it shuts.

You gawk, eyes darting to the journal as you round the counter. Your eyes narrow, finger darting out. 

“Listen up, Morgan --” you mutter, “I dunno who you think you are --”

The faucet behind you turns on.

“I pay the bills,” you say slowly, “I live here, and you’re more than welcome to stay but you need to stop scaring me.”

The faucet cuts abruptly in a cough. You spin, eyeing it in bewilderment.

“I’m going crazy,” you breathe, “I’m talking to a book.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your hip. Like someone trying to pass by. 

You let him.

You step out of the shower one morning and there’s a hand-print in the steam of the mirror.

“If you’re tryin’ to peep on me in the shower,” you say quietly. “I’ll kill you.”

You swear you hear a laugh over your shoulder.

Humming. 

It’s like the fading of a song, in and out, and you can’t tell where it’s coming from. It pulls you from your sleep and as soon as you open your eyes you feel the weight of the bed shift.

Silence.

Things quiet down.

No more shattered glasses, no more flying knives, no more exploding bulbs. The pantry stays closed, but the beans keep appearing here and there -- which you don’t really mind.

A. Morgan’s journal has it’s own spot on your kitchen table now.

The touching happens more often. Most recently, you’d felt a hand on your shoulder while you’d sat and watched television in the living room. 

You look over the back of the couch.

“... Hello?”

Silence.

Things in the attic, however, are louder than ever.

You still don’t have the courage to go up there.

You settle on bundling up, after all it’s winter. And you need the coats that are up there. But, there’s something holding you back. You worry that going up there will shift the dynamic you’ve seemed to have settled into with the other guest in your home.

“You know,” you say politely in the direction of the journal as you’re cooking dinner, “I wish you’d keep it down up there --”

The attic floorboards creak and a bang! resounds through the house.

Your hand flies to your heart.

A low rumble of laughter carves through the dining room.

It’s a frigid Sunday morning when you decide to brave it. You pull the hatch down in the hallway, attic ladder folding out as you heave a sigh and try to keep your wits about you.

“I just need my jackets --” you say gently as you ascend the steps slowly, flashlight clicking on in your hands, “I’ll get them and get outta your hair, Morgan -- I...”

Your jaw drops.

The attic is...

“Oh my god.”

A mess.

“What the hell have you been up to...?” you breathe, stepping over mounds of clothes spilling from box overturned on the floor.

The furniture is old -- passed down to your mom’s mom by her mom. Inside are old dresses, old shirts, furs and scarves and hats and... the doors to the wardrobe are open, exposing the now bare mahogany of the back. It’s been emptied, and you breathe a soft exclamation of shock as you near it, stepping over the pastel fabrics pooled on the floor.

In the back of the dresser, there are scratches.

WHERE AM I?

As you read it, your breath curls around you.

You feel like you’ve been shoved into an icebox. Behind your eyes, a shallow grave in the middle of winter flashes like a bad dream. 

There’s a sound over your shoulder then, like a cough, and you spin -- eyes dilating in the dark as your flashlight follows. The whole attic has been torn through.

It smells like tobacco.

The doors to the wardrobe slam shut then with a desperate rattle and you jump, eyes peeled wide as the mirrors fixed to the outer doors glimmer back at you.

The man in the reflection looks scared.

And then he’s gone.

You ask your coworker to help you move the wardrobe one afternoon.

“Nice piece a’ furniture,” he’d remarked as he helped you maneuver it down the ladder, “Where’s it going?”

“My room --” you say, straining to lift the heavy piece, “I felt guilt having this up there in the dark.”

“Nice place.”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

You’re working at your desk when you hear it, head snapping to the sound -- it’s gone in a beat, fading into the back of your mind and you’re left wondering if it even happened.

And... then you smell the tobacco.

Smoke curls in the rays of the winter afternoon sun pouring through the windows.

The reflection -- it’s not you. It’s him. You freeze, eyes trying their best to memorize the figure of the reclined outlaw. He’s on your bed, like a man out of time, hat tipped low to hide everything but the cut of his jaw. He’s looking at you, you realize, and when you turn to look at the spot on the bed, you see there’s an imprint. 

“Thanks,” you says slowly, “You’ve certainly settled in.”

A laugh. In one ear, rattling around and out the other.

Blue eyes meet yours in the reflection.

There’s blood on his collar.

And then he’s gone.

“Who’re you?”

You pull your eyes up from his journal. 

In the wardrobe mirror, his reflection paints him long and broad and rugged. His hat is in hands, calloused and bruised, and he looks pale; his cheeks are gaunt and eyes a bit hollow, but you can see the handsome cut of his profile more clearly now without his hat obscuring the view. He’s hunched over the side of the bed. 

A. Morgan is scared.

“I, uh... I should be asking you that, I think.”

“Arthur.”

Silence. The smell of tobacco is all that lingers behind.

You buy a book -- GUNSLINGERS & THE WEST, a collection of biographies by Theodore Levin. It’s the only thing you can find that mentions Arthur Morgan, aside from a few old newspaper clippings that briefly mention a man of the same name from a town called Blackwater. 

The history is a bit muddied, the newspaper articles only giving you pieces of the picture.

The book helps.

He was a member of the Van der Linde’s... some gang from back in the day. Son of Lyle and Beatrice Morgan. Surname is Welsh. Born in 1863. It doesn’t tell you much more than that., only that Arthur helped Levin composite some of the images and stories in his book.

How nice of him.

“Y’ still didn’t say who y’ are.”

You jump fifty feet in the air.

The bathroom mirror is dark, but you can see him there over your shoulder as the faucet runs -- the glow of a lit cigarette hangs from his lips. There’s the smell again. His spurs jingle as he settles against the sill.

You rub at the sleep in your eyes. 

It’s 3am. 

“Am I dead?”

You don’t know how to answer him. 

He disappears in an exhale of smoke.

On the table in the kitchen, pages of his journal begin to turn.

Without prompting, you tell him your name.

You’re chopping carrots for stew as you speak.

The pages stop.

“I think you’re dead,” you say softly, “I think -- I don’t know. I think you’ve been dead for a long time... I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Your house is quiet for a few days. 

Eerily so.

You’d become used to the weight of someone else’s energy in the house for so long that... well, you’re a little worried that your words in the kitchen the other dat had maybe been cause enough for him to move on.

And that’s when the dreams start.

Laughter. The burn of whiskey bubbles in your throat. There’s a smile on your lips and a hand dragging you to the fire and sweet words being chirped into your ear. 

Suddenly, you realize, this isn’t your life.

“Wha’s wrong, sweetpea, huh?”

Blue eyes glimmer with worry, lacking hollow divide.

The faces around the fire have no discernible features. When you think you’ve nailed them down, they melt into a changing river of expressions. Blurred. Running like rain. Panic rises in your throat.

Arthur’s face is the last thing you see before you wake up.

You’re not supposed to be there.

“I know you.”

You think maybe he’s right.

His hands are on your skin, searing and hot and dangerously tempting. They hike up your thighs, mouth pressed hotly to your own -- the moments twists like a knife in your gut and you’re pushing it away, hands shoving in a flurry of confusion.

This isn’t right, this isn’t your life.

Arthur’s face is flooded with concern. 

A beat passes. Heavy breaths linger between you both. Finally, from above him in his lap, you speak.

“You do know me.”

“Who is she?”

Arthur clears his throat. He’s coughing, heavy and wet, into his arm. Blood runs down his chin. It hurts, the mere sound of it, and his breath runs ragged.

“I was gonna marry her.”

“Is that how you know me?”

He doesn’t need to say a word. You know the answer already.

Fate’s a funny thing.

[commanderalexa]

villaneve fic recs

updated: june 9, 2019

now that killing eve season 2 is over, ive seen some ppl not know what to do with their time. and reading fan fiction is a great way to get your fill of villaneve angst, fluff, and sexy times! also, make sure to comment on the fan fiction you read to show appreciation to hard working writers because they have all written amazing fics. these are my absolute favourite villaneve fics and i view them as literary masterpieces i said what i said.

1. Professional Boundaries- It's probably easier for them to not be in the same room, at least for a while.

this is like this fandom’s bible, it continues after season 1 and they really cant stay away from each other huh. angst, fluff, slowburn, a perfect balance.

2. (Issues) We've got the kind of love it takes to solve them- 

this series is honestly what i need after that season 2 finale... some fluff!! its the best series and we get to see villaneve in a relationship. domestic and soft.

3. Different For Us- AU: Eve is a forensic psychologist tasked with assessing a certain somebody who has been incarcerated for some time following a grisly crime...

this au is amazing like we still see the same dynamic between villanelle and eve except they’re in a different circumstance. 

4. One Hundred Minutes of Normality- “For the next" – Eve checks the back of the DVD case – "one hundred minutes you and I are going to pretend that the following things are true. One, neither of us is a psychopath. Two, we both strongly disapprove of murder. Three, I never stabbed you, four, you're not even thinking about stabbing me back, and five, we're dating and have a perfectly normal, healthy relationship. I need one hundred minutes of normality or my entire head is going to explode. Do you want popcorn?" 

another domestic fic in which they pretend to be in a relationship, my soft heart is FULL. 

5. The Void- "Destroy the seed of evil, or it will grow up to your ruin." - Aesop. After weeks of getting her life back on track, Eve takes a wrong step and begins indulging in dangerous vices. But turning a blind eye to Villanelle's true nature is a grave mistake, and soon, Eve will feel the consequences everywhere around her. Part 1 of Of Space & Water.

exquisite writing, this is for all of y’all that love angst!

6. Sidewalk Closed Ahead- Ambiguous canon divergence 02: Villanelle thought she could accept being the other woman, but the kind-of-retired assassin isn’t sure what to do when she develops stronger feelings for Eve. Juggling emotions and sexual appetites leaves Villanelle strung out and clawing for her own sense of normalcy in life.

villanelle is the other woman but develops deeper feelings for eve and pretends to be ok with their situation but wants more. ANGST CENTRAL. this fic is a work in progress and i get so excited whenever i see updates in my email. 

7. Hell is Empty (All the Devils Are Here)- "i was thinking... we should go to alaska."set post-season two finale.

this is the fic i need after the season two finale. i love the author’s style of writing- its so achingly beautiful, and the slow burn is written so well. one of my favourite villaneve fics

8. For Hire- “This is the last time that Eve takes advice from Hugo.When Eve drunkenly decides to hire an escort to be her date for her ex-husband’s wedding, she is in no way prepared for Villanelle to be who she is.”

villanelle is an escort and eve hires her and they pretend to be in a relationship for niko’s wedding. this fic JUST posted and i’m already OBSESSED. imagine them trying to fake a relationship but gradually developing feelings... thats some quality shit y’all. 

9. tell me it's there (just beyond me)- “Eve hadn’t slept for twenty-eight hours, and time took on a sticky quality, drifting by before rushing over several hours in an instant. She knew, somewhere, people were celebrating for the liberation of France. She wondered if Niko was there, enjoying himself, while she struggled to make soldiers and civilians comfortable in a cold tent.She hoped he was, hoped he wasn’t somewhere like this. A four-hundred bed field hospital set up in the grounds of some French aristocrats house, with grass floors that had already been disturbed by the heavy steps of stretcher-bearers. ...

Eve is a nurse in WW2, and Oksana is wounded on D-Day.”

this is one of my favourites. eve helps villanelle heal and they grow closer and closer. this made my heart ache and also made it full again. truly a masterpiece. this is exactly the kind of au’s i adore.

anyways hope y’all enjoy! more fic recs can be found on my fic rec page where i have all my favourite wlw fan fiction.

[gojaimas]

More Late Comment Replies

Hey people. I just watched Endgame, and since Thanos memes always remind me of my story because they kept coming up in the comments for some reason, I’ve decided to come back and reply to some more late comments. Here goes.

HorsemanOTA: “looks like you finished this earlier this year but i wish i would have come by it sooner, spent the past almost week binge reading this story and have loved every minute of it, i cant say im not disappointed that all three of them didn't end up in a poli-relationship, i was hoping it would have ended like that. The crutch thing i can understand but i feel like they had bonded way too much for it to end way, it hurt me that that was the out for her to be like i gotta squash it and let it be a pair instead of a trio. Got so invested in your version of Lucy lol. regardless i loved just about all of this fic so thank you for the read, hope this review reaches you well. Later Daze”

Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it! I’m a little let down that I couldn’t have all three of them get together in the end, too. But I couldn’t just snap my fingers and make everything turn out alright in the end. I wanted to stay true to the story I was writing and it just didn’t fit for that to happen at that point.

J Master 87: “Holy shit. That was down right amazing. I absolutely loved this story, the interactions, the twists and turns. It was everything I could have asked for in a Ben 10 fic. Thank you for that”

You’re welcome! I only had a few real ‘twists’ I’d say, but I’m glad I managed to pull them off well enough for some people to enjoy.

Guest: “Lurking in the shadows huh? Batman, is that you? For being the world’s greatest detective you sure gave your identity away pretty easily”

CrimsonBolt1: “This is enjoyable so far. Reminds me of Little Moments in feel. Nice to see them finally starting to be open and honest with each other. I like your Lucy. Much better inclusion than a random OC.”

I didn’t want to make any OCs major characters in the story. Lucy ended up being a good fit for the role I needed. Also, for anyone who hasn’t seen, shadows59 just started a reboot of Little Moments, so go and check that out.

yuyuyre: “Why, this is my first ben10 fanfic and I'm glad. It's beautiful, truely. Thank you for writing this wonderful story.”

Thanks! There are lots more great Ben 10 fanfics out there if you’re interested, so I hope you find some others that you enjoy, too!

Hassan Elgarni1: “Nothing to do, so I re-read. Sigh. And shit, no more good fanfictions for ben10, plus the fandom seems like it's diying. What to do? We're lost without some drama in our life. No! I mean some dramatic stories to read about, and this one seems to always fit.”

Not to plug for it too much, but there’s that Little Moments reboot now...

Guest: “Can we get that Lucy ending or that afterstory as a Christmas present? We got a snow map in PubG, Fortnite season 7, MCU trailers with Avengers: Endgame, Blackout from CoD, GOTY awards, it’s such a shame RDR2 didn’t bag the prize but can’t really say God of War didn’t deserve it so an update would be the icing on the cake, unless you’re pre occupied with unwrapping presents. Also, can we have a Ben 10 battle royale mode too? Thanks”

Sorry I couldn’t get that Ben 10 battle royale out in time for Christmas. Also, I’m not working on a continuation for this story right now. I’m too busy trying to find time to work on my Legend of Zelda story.

Guest: “Me when gojaimas updates: Ayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayaya”

Guest: “According to the Bible we're all related, so we all share blood so it being forbade by Christianity makes no sense, also great story thanks for making my day less boring”

I don’t really get how I’m still getting comments about this one particular line in that chapter. I never said anything about what should or should not be forbade by Christianity. Lucy was simply trying to figure out Gwen’s reasons for being against incest, and she considered religious beliefs to be a possibility since, regardless of whether or not you think it makes sense, there are Christians out there who are against incest for religious reasons. Neither me, nor Lucy, nor Gwen said that should be the case. I hope that’s clear by now. Anyway, I’m glad I made your day less boring.

dippytrippy122: “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Simply put this was the best romance-based fanfic I have ever read that wasn't just a humorous jab at the genre. You did so with a pairing I disliked due to its incestuous nature and actually made me enjoy it greatly. You also made sure that the ending wasn't perfect and I respect you immensely for that. Thank you for this wonderful story. :)”

Thanks! It’s always great to hear from people who enjoyed the story despite not liking the pairing. I think that means I did an okay job with recognizing the weirdness of it and not shying away from that.

xSean: “THATS WHERE YOU END IT?! Can't deny I'm a little annoyed with that but this fic was still great over all. The character development and interactions were absolutely superb. Wish there was more clueless, fluffy interactions but I guess they gotta grow up and realise what is happening at some point. Again great fic over all, one of the best I have read in a long time. Only the 2nd Ben 10 fic I've read too!”

Thank you! I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it going for another year or two, but I had to let it end before I ruined it, haha. The clueless, fluffy interactions were always a lot of fun, though. I loved that part of their relationship.

Samian: “Read through it in 2 days and some how I'm sad about that, the pace of your story should have made me slow down and push the ending further away. This was exactly the kind of development in their characters that I was looking for with in the Bwen fics. Beautifully done, really good job. That being said though there were some downsides, over the course of the story you took what made ben 10 what it is out of the story, which was a bit sad in my eyes. I do have to admit that you made it work though and I wouldn't change any of it. The ending is a bit of a letdown in the sense that there is a strong sense of anticipation of where it would have gone too. But again you some how made it work. You really did an incredible job.”

Thank you. I’m sorry to everyone who read this story expecting more alien fighting action, but even from my minimalistic description, “A story about how Ben and Gwen's relationship evolves over the next four years following their summer trip,” I think I made it clear that that simply wasn’t what the story was about. I’m happy you managed to enjoy it anyway!

Slayer of The Abyss: “I really liked how you gave the characters depth and Sense of being real people, the only thing that bothers me is how the thought process of different senteint species could be almost exactly the same, which isnt really your fault. But anyway i am looking forawrd to any potential fic you may write in the future”

Yeah, not much I could’ve done about that. If Lucy was too alien, she wouldn’t really have acted the way she did in the episode she appeared in.

MosquitoesLoveMe: “This story is adorable and you're a wizard at writing to make this happen! The fluff I've read till now has been heartwarming, I demand more fluff for the fluff gods!”

I, too, worship the fluff gods.

MosquitoesLoveMe: “Oh Lucy, you're about as subtle as a brick. Which says something about Ben and Gwen I suppose...“

Ben and Gwen: *oblivious to their love* Lucy:

MosquitoesLoveMe: “I am not sure how I feel about this. The lead up, the talk, and the execution was perfect mind you, and Ben's reaction is to be expected from how he's been portrayed. Maybe it's because we've seen Gwen struggle with her feelings and come to terms with them but we haven't had quite as many chapters from Ben's perspective. But because of that it kind of felt off. I didn't expect both of them to have sorted this out at the same time, but it doesn't even seem like Ben entertained that thought, leading to a blank face when confronted. Somehow I didn't expect that, or rather I expected more than that. Either way considering I'm reading this months after it's been completed, I shall have faith that you'll tie it up well, after all I haven't been disappointed thus far!”

It’s been a while, but I think around this point in the story, I was doing a lot less from Ben’s POV because I wanted the reader to be unsure about how Ben would react as much as Gwen was. As for whether or not Ben has entertained the idea, I’ve shown in the past that every time anything even close to resembling the idea pops into his head, he finds some way to dismiss it and bury it deeper because to him, his cousin was completely off-limits. It took Gwen confronting him with the idea directly to finally get him to truly consider it.

MosquitoesLoveMe: “It was a wonderful journey, thanks for writing this story! It was a pretty realistic end to the story and finished on a hopeful note, that leaves me wishing there was a sequel that goes into how Ben and Gwen handle the trials of their relationship and the adults finding out. That also made me really wish for a chapter from the perspective of Ben and Gwen's parents. Keeping with the trend of maintaining a realistic tone, it's hard to believe they did not at least suspect something was up, especially Natalie. It makes me really curious as to what went on in their heads during the last few chapters. Either way, whether or not you get back to this at a future date, I'm happy you wrote this story and glad I got to read it, cheers mate!”

Natalie was definitely getting suspicious. If I ever do continue the story, I probably will go more into what their parents are thinking. But that’ll be on the backburner for now. Thank you so much for reading my story! I’m happy you enjoyed it!

Well, that wasn’t all the comments, but that’s all I have time for right now. I’ll get to the rest eventually. Thanks again for everything! My fans are truly a joy to hear from.

[helloakai]

Dreams...

So I named this blog Fantasy Life thinking that I’d be writing about all the exciting things I’m doing when really it’s a bunch of challenges, one after another because of schizophrenia. I was going to do so much! I was going to blog about my clothes, the brands I wear and post pictures of them, I was going to write about the food I cook with awesome recipes that I found, I was going to blog about videogames, movies, people I interact with, you name it. It was going to be so fun. This is the first time I’ve blogged in forever and this time I’m going to write about what I’ve been missing out on. 

So here I am, a year later, feeling depressed and drinking beers whenever I can and barely cleaning my house and fighting with my husband. I wanted to beat Final Fantasy X or the first time, I wanted to cook all the recipes on my cooking games on the DS, I wanted to read all of the books in my house and write my thoughts, so many things.....it would have been the fantasy life if not for my damn voices......they take emotions from me so I won’t finish a bath and things like that, they can’t stand a little bit of happiness....I think it might be the devil. Anyway, enough about him....even my journey as a Christian has been interrupted....now I only read bits of scripture in the mornings and some at night when my phone goes off.I used to read pages of the Bible everyday and yes I’m still on 2 Kings. Church has been interrupted because of the corona virus, and everytime I try to tell myself I’m going to Heaven, the mean voices say things to me to stop that. I told myself I was going to Heaven my whole life....or it was just a feeling I guess. When I was younger I thought this place was Hell and I’m secretly sad all the time but I smile when I talk to people. I’ve since stopped being that negative and became a grateful person....the voices took that too....I was even happy while cleaning the house....they stole that? What do I do? I can’t enjoy anything anymore...they’re even trying to ruin this writing session for me.......

Yes, I would be writing fan fics too, that was something that was on my mind and writing my second novel and publishing it along with my first one.I would be roleplaying too with people who wouldn’t care if I can’t do it all the time. Things like that.